


Absolution

by DaddyDrac



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Horror, I am a fucking moron who deleted this on accident, M/M, Polyamory, Re-upload, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaddyDrac/pseuds/DaddyDrac
Summary: A Speaker shall awake the Soldier, and the two of them will find the Hunter. The three of them will save the world, says the prophecy, and the two have no choice but to believe it. It gets harder, however, when they find their third in a particular place, and a particular state. After all, can broken weapons still kill?I accidentally deleted this 5 chapters in and I am so wrathful with myself, but I have to be quiet because it is almost 5 in the morning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As it says on the summary, I accidentally deleted this. I was trying to delete my shitty GoT fic (which sucked so bad??? Like, I can't get into the characters at all.) but somehow I deleted Absolution. Had a mini meltdown, nearly started crying. Good thing that I had the work saved on my computer, but still, all the comments got deleted and that sucks so bad. Like... fuck. I loved reading those. Shit. Anyways, here it goes... stuff that you already read.

The cell is small, only enough for three steps in each direction, when made by a tall adult male. The ceiling is low enough that the man inside is better off sitting on the ground than standing, and walls he has no choice but to lean on are as damp as the cold, hard ground.   
„Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned“ he whispered in a ruined voice, one of a man defeated and tired. He did not look up, but he knew the priest in front of his cell was listening. Maybe even making an effort to remember. Usually words of a heretic wouldn’t be worthy of memory, but this heretic was regretful; ashamed of the error of his ways. Maybe his words will even be written down; taught to misbehaving children as a horrible, harsh lesson.   
Obey your parents, respect the God. Follow the Lord’s way. Do not glutton, give way to lust and liquor. For the greatest heretic of all did it all and died miserable and humbled, arriving to Hell’s gate in rags and tears.   
Maybe they will have to lie about the last part; Trevor Belmont did not know if he had any tears left to shed. 

„Go on, my son“ the priest goaded him, his words merciful but tone smug. He was not Trevor’s father, and the pathetic drunk in front of him was not son of his. He wasn’t even a part of the good shepard’s herd; he was an excommunicated sinner, no more.   
„I am guilty of gluttony“ Trevor did as asked, voice shaking with shame. „I am guilty of pride. I felt pride when besting my fellow man; I thought myself better than how Lord made me“ he gulped, head buried in his hands. He was such a sorry sight one could only wonder how he ever managed to be proud of anything. The priest himself wondered, and so he asked.   
„What delusions plagued your mind to have you so prideful? Have you listened the Unholy and his whisper?“   
„I did not need him“ came the answer of regret „The wickedness came within. I grew up nobility. It gave me pride to belong to a family. It gave me pride to look upon the villages on our lands. I one day would be protecting them. It gave me fulfillment-“

„You protected nothing!“ the priest’s voice echoed through the small space, hitting the stone walls and returning with resonance, too loud for Trevor’s sensitive ears. „Your family’s tampering with black magic is what brought this horror upon our great land. You defiled the purpose of prayer, denied God’s word and refused his mercy. There is nothing to be proud of in a family of witches and warlocks“   
„I know that!“ it was the first time that the brunette raised his voice, and the priest flinched in fear, taking a step backwards before remembering himself. Luckily, the Belmont was too busy whipping stray tears of his stained face to notice the immediate fear on the man’s face. What did he have to fear, even? A half feral sinner without his weapons, locked behind iron he couldn’t bend, destined to burn at the sunrise like all heretics ought to? No. In that cell there was nothing he should fear. 

Alexander Belmont. Now that was a man who inspired fear. Sonia Belmont, his lady wife. Leon Belmont, their great ancestor; Wolfgang Belmont, their eldest son and true heir.   
Trevor Belmont was the runt of the litter, the punishment to the wicked family from the Lord who already granted too much mercy to the black magicians.   
„I know that“ the youngest, and last Belmonts repeated, now much softer, his voice breaking. „I valued myself above my stature. I am also guilty the sin of insolence. I was disobedient to my mother and defiant to my father. I did only the chores that pleased me, I was lazy in my work and neglectful in my prayers. I never put soul in them and upon my family’s burning, I never uttered one again“.   
„That is a great sin“ the priest confirmed, pleased with himself. „Even if black of heart, parents must be obeyed by their offspring. That is the way of the lord. My son“   
„But I did not listen to the Lord“ Trevor insisted, sniffling „I never read the good book“   
„Lying is a great crime always, Belmont, but when committed during confession even greater. You were reciting Bible when I came in“   
„The bits I could remember. I never read it. I never learned how to read- that is why my father was always so wrathful with me. I denied his knowledge too“ Trevor said, empty eyes staring down at his ragged shoes. The priest went silent at that. He had listened for quite a bit before he made his presence known. Trevor knew quite a bit of verses; if he truly remembered them without reading, he possessed intelligence greater than... well. That was just another proof of his consorting with the devil.   
„Is there more, child?“ he asked, wary of the man again. Be it his memory given by devil or not, he did not enjoy the presence of a man so beaten and sinful yet remembering Bible better than he.   
„I cannot say“ Trevor said after a bit of a pause, his voice soft, strangled. His bottom lip wobbled in shame, and body shook in what very well could be fear.   
„You must. This is the only opportunity for you to cleanse your soul before we cleanse your body with fire“. At that, more tears came, and the tall, crumbled man curled onto himself more, clearly terrified.   
„I am- I am a-“ he sobbed, pressing a hand to his mouth to control his crying. „I am a sodomite“ he managed to whisper, eyes closed so he doesn’t meet the judgement of the priest. 

A second passed, then the other. Then a few more. Finally, the last of house Belmont looked up, figuring the priest was so scandalized that he was lost for words. What he saw was a bit different, as while the priest may have been lost for words, he never shall find them again; his vocal cords were pierced and he himself was quite dead, staked as he was- on a stake made of ice, erupting from the stone and piercing the man in the black cloth from groin to neck, emerging from his cheek. Blood was pooling around his feet, eyes rolled back into his head in a bizarre way- Trevor found himself hyperventilating. He could not understand what upset him so. He saw more gruesome deaths, after all, and even if he takes the blame for this murder, he already was meant for the pyre. How hotter could hell become? Maybe, just maybe, he was upset to see the man dead because he knew him from before.   
As a child. When the man was good Father Solomon, and he would visit every month, bringing him and his sisters sweets while he would always bring some book for father, and tales of his worsening back to mother. Back then, of course. While he was a family friend, and before he came among the other priests, leading a mob to demand justice by fire and blood. By death of five young girls, two loving parents and three brave young sons.   
The fourth son, small and a coward, got away. Now was his time. 

„It is not your time, Trevor Belmont“ he looked behind the impaled corpse, only to see the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on. Her hair was short and luscious, the coppery blonde like sundown, and her blue eyes warmer than blue had any right to be. She was dressed in Speaker’s robes, something that made him ache in his chests; Speakers were family friends too. Would they have betrayed them too?   
„... I am Sypha Belnades“ she added, clearly having expected him to say something. Her foreign name explained her odd accent.   
„What are you doing here?“ he asked dumbly, not fully processing that she must have heard most of his confession. Why should he care if she did? He was going to die soon.   
„I am getting you out of here“ she said confidently, pressing her palm to the wall next to the bars of his cell. One by one, each bar grew a thick layer of ice over it, and then in perfect symphony, they broke down like Trevor did three months into his captivity. He looked down at the melting shards and dirty iron, confused.   
„I don’t understand“ he said, not getting up „Why.“ Why indeed? Why would she risk her life for his? He met her eyes only for a second; any more and the fire within would have burned him „You must go. Here is naught by death. You look like life“ he told her, warning her to run. She killed one priest, but will she be able to kill the others? However did she even get far enough to the Cathedral’s dungeons?   
„And you look like shit“ she said with a shrug and a frown, looking between him and the hallway „Come now. We should go“   
He stayed put. Another man walked in. His eyes widened in panic for a moment, but he realized within seconds that he was no threat to the lady; he wrapped her arm around her shoulders like a lover would, and kissed her cheek like a friend would.   
„Hold these for me, please“ he told her gently, and put into her hands... Trevor’s sword and whip. As Trevor gazed upon them, the man stepped over the ruined bars and right in front of the brunette, looking down on him with unreadable expression. And when Trevor returned his gaze, he thought to himself that no man had the right to hold such beauty to himself. If Sypha was warm twilight, then the man was a cold dawn, with eyes as golden as the sun rays peppering the last of night’s darkness. He was lean, clear of face and of long, blond mane that fell down his back in elegant waves.   
Trevor could not remember the last time he washed his hair. The man offered him his hand none the less.   
„Come now, great sinner“ he said in a tone that was both teasing and warm. „You have a holy mission to fulfill“  
„What? No. No, you don’t understand, I’m- I’m for the pyre. They said I am to burn at dawn, I can’t help you“ he stuttered, did his best to explain to the fanged angel that he could not possibly go anywhere. The angel quirked his eyebrow.   
„You crave death, mayhaps?“ he asked, expecting the man to deny and rise, but the last of house Belmont only looked aside, eyes watering.   
„I’m tired“ he said finally „Please, let me rest“   
„We need you“ the woman spoke up again, stepping into the cell herself, next to her lover. Unlike him, she knelt in front of the fallen warrior, bringing a hand to his cheek gently. Trevor flinched, too used to less than friendly touches. The lady sighed sadly, and moved to reattach the sheded sword where it ought be at his belt. She knew her way around weapons, that one.   
„We indeed do“ her consort agreed as she took hold of his hand and curled his fingers around his whip. „Come now“ he said, offering his hand to him.   
„Your family did not start this tragedy“ he informed him gently „But you can help end it“ she was too warm. He was too soothing. Trevor wanted to drown in both.   
He accepted the offered hand, allowing the man to help him to his feet.   
„Who are you?“ he asked finally „What are we going to do?“   
The dhampir smiled. Trevor thought he never saw anyone look so sad.   
„I am Adrian Farrenheit Tepeš“ the blonde said „And we are going to kill Dracula“:


	2. Chapter 2

Getting him out of the Cathedral was anticlimactic compared to the way they strolled in. They led him away from the main hallway, and through one of the discreet back doors rather than the grand, central one. Disoriented and confused as he was, and worryingly apathetic towards death, Sypha did not feel he had to see their handiwork.   
It was not her own, for the most part. But Adrian darkened when underneath the shadow of the imposing building, eyes having an unnatural shine to them, the gold within melting with wrath she never could understand. Yet she knew better than to stop him when he strolled up the stairs, his sword following him without his hand holding it. He was not there to sneak and crawl. He was there to save and to condemn; he was there for vengeance.   
It was a small mercy at least, she thought to herself as she rushed after him, that he killed them all so quickly. Blood was plenty, much of it soaking into the hem of her robes as she followed him from corpse to corpse, but the cuts he dealt were clean and precise; throats were sliced evenly, heads chopped off promtly. It was like the angel of death visited the Church, cleansing it of the wicked that played God’s minions. Perhaps in some future histories, the slaughter will truly be presented as such. Only she would know it was an act of revenge, lust for blood created by the ashes of his mother. It was a mercy, she thought again, with more conviction. He sought out the culprits, not the humanity; and he did not crave their screams. Only their demise.   
She robbed him of the last kill, murdering calmly and with experience. There was no joy in watching the man die, and the parallel between her kill and the ones Dracula had committed in all the myths and legends was not lost on her. But the blood dripping on the floor sounded like relief; she could not stand the man torturing his prisoner any longer. He needed no use any weapons or threats. The guilt and pain he provoked in Trevor Belmont was torture enough, even though Sypha wasn’t naive. Church does not deal in words only, those are just the spice to the main course. She wasn’t looking forward finding out what they did to their Hunter before they salted his wounds with Bible verses. 

„Something’s wrong with your leg“ she said when they lost sight of the Cathedral, the night sky losing its darkness by the minute. He was limping severely, although he managed to keep up with their brisk pace. In all truth, the speaker magician would have preferred if they ran, but both she and her lover knew better than to push it, given one look at the man’s condition. Just how long was he within that church? The word of Belmont’s capture started spreading but a month prior, but that did not mean it was then that he fell to their clutches. The bishop would have wanted time of secrecy to make sure the man accused was truly the heretic in question, and then he’d need time to break him for the pyre. But even with all that unknown time, they barely made it.   
Truly, if they were any slower, they would have lost him, she knew it. If she rested just a bit more, as she so desperately needed, they would have lost him. If Alucard traveled less during the day, as his nature begged him to, they would have lost him. If they indulged just the fraction of comfort they as people deserved, the Church would have burned the humanity’s hope for salvation. When thinking of it from that perspective... the Speaker felt even less sorrow for the slain priests. They would have burned her as a witch as well, if only they were given a chance. Heaven knows what they would have done to Alucard.   
Her fists clenched at the thought of any harm coming to the blond male. 

„It is just sprained“ Trevor said after a few moments „My ankle. I can walk with it, no problem“ he told her, looking behind them to where they took him away from. Alucard tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, with barely any strength behind it, as not to startle him.   
„But you cannot run“ he said simply, looking down at him with that odd, unreadable face. „Will you be able to ride? There is a small village not two days from here. There you can rest before we proceed“ he offered, although he did not know for sure what the next course of action should be. His father’s castle has been moving sporadically throughout the year and it followed no pattern that he could distinguish. He wasn’t surprised by that, in fact, he doubted there even was a pattern. His father wasn’t strategically murdering humans, he lashed out like a hurt animal whenever the wound would flare. The attacks were not a product of a sane man; he was mad with grief. 

„I can“ he confirmed, moving his hair from falling into his eyes. They were such a pretty color, Adrian thought, but way too sad. The man was still under shock from the ordeal, not yet wrapping his head around the fact that he will not be dying that day- and god knows what the church has done to him before they arrived to hear the confession. He could smell blood on the man, too much. There must be wounds underneath his ragged clothing, he would have to take a look at those once they had a safe place to rest.   
Bells of alarm bid them goodbye as they rode out of the city on their horses. Someone must have found the bodies; as it was, Trevor was probably going to be blamed, no matter the fact that the bars were broken by magic that he did not posses. There were no witnesses to claim otherwise, after all. 

They have rushed to the stable where the horses awaited them, and the Belmont realized they did not so not to protect themselves, but the mob that was without a doubt to form at their sight. If they were attacked, nothing was to say they may not have to kill to get out of trouble. By fleeing the city as quickly as possible, Sypha and Adrian saved several lives. They rode in a line, Sypha on front, Adrian behind, Trevor in the middle. He understood the arrangement all too well, and had it happened before the Church flogged the fight out of him, he would have complained, told them he did not need to be guarded. For better or worse, with worse being far more likely, he accepted the pitiful treatment the same way he had accepted his death sentence; quietly. Hours were spent in that silence, until the horses drew to a halt without any of them having prompted them to do so.   
„Why did they stop?“ Adrian asked, now in line with the humans that until then rode ahead of him, struggling with the reigns to try and get his horse to move.   
„Maybe they are tired?“ Sypha suggested, but her voice doubtful and confused, strongly suggested that not even she believed her words, and Trevor knew exactly why. An uninformed person would have mistaken the horses for weak and not worth the good money Adrian must have given for them, since they in looks were unremarkable and plain, but Trevor’s trained eye knew exactly what the animal underneath him was- a strong, resilient and obedient beast. It was the type of a horse necessary for a long, unpredictable travel; on the terrains they currently were going through, which was a stony hill path peppered with weeds, a shiny battle stallion would break its legs. 

„The horses do not want to go into a fae’s ring“ he said after a few moments, voice rugged and head bent forward, but his eyes stalked the road ahead of them, spotting the markings on the rocks with natural ease. He was taught all about them, after all, first hand.   
„They do not want to what?“ Sypha asked, a frown on her pretty face as she looked at her new companion with concern- was he coming down with a fever? Ill or not, the diagnose would have to wait, as Adrian spoke up then.   
„There is someone there“ he said lowly, but by the time Sypha looked up into the distance, the odd silhouette was much closer than it was before- and it kept hovering above the ground just by the barest minimum, quite tall and leaner than a human woman ever could be. Dressed in transparent white cloth that looked more like a large shawl than a dress, the woman moved closer, carrying scent of snow with her, and an aura that the dhampir in their midst found threatening- with a tell tale cut of air, his sword placed itself by his head, ready to spring to his command.   
„No further“ he warned her in an even, still tone, barely louder than a whisper; he was confident her hearing was well enough to catch his command. 

„I do not take orders from you, bastard“ she informed him, her voice as warm as ice. She turned her gaze then, finding the most battered one of the small group. „You are close to home“ she stated simply, and Trevor nodded, gulping.   
„Lower your sword“ he muttered to Adrian, an underlying urgency in his tone before he returned his gaze to the lady in front of him. „Is this your road, sister?“ he asked her „I am afraid we have no means to pay for the right of passage“ he told her, gripping the reigns so tight his knuckles have turned white. He was quite familiar with Naisa and her kind, but the last time the magical being saw him, he was much stronger, prouder. More worthy of looking her in the eye. The woman smirked in response, eyes glinting with a malicious intent so sudden it took Sypha’s breath away.   
„You could, perhaps, give me his tongue“ she purred, looking straight at Adrian „I can feed the wolves with it“   
„Enough with this nonsense“ Adrian snarled at that, his fangs extending and the sword almost vibrating with his urge to fling it at the mysterious stranger. However, he never got the chance, for the very next second, he fell of his horse, the woman’s eyes glaring at him. 

He couldn’t breathe. It was such a simple fact, yet quite a troublesome one. In fact, the invisible fingers around his windpipe caused him such a panic that he didn’t even hear his lover’s scream, only felt as she tried to force her magic down his throat, allow some air to enter his lungs. It would be alright, he thought as his body struggled to breathe, Sypha was there, pulling his head to her lap- she’d make the curse go away.   
Except that she didn’t. Adrian could feel the wind brush against his lips, chill his teeth and massage his tongue, but naught could make it pass the invisible barrier at his throat. Just as white and black dots started peppering his vision, the curse was lifted, allowing him to gulp at the air like a fish would at water. He coughed, rolling over on his hands and knees as he waited to regain his strength. Sypha ran her hand up and down his back comfortingly, and Trevor was still talking with the damned woman who caused it all.   
„He dreams, Belmont“ she was saying as the buzzing lessened in Adrian’s ears „Dracula dreams every night“   
„He dreams of what?“ the wounded man asked, licking his lips nervously.   
„Dragons, Belmont. And he fears them“ she informed him, deeming that the last bit of conversation she wanted; within the next moment she disappeared, and Adrian couldn’t determine if she turned into mist or vanished into thin air.   
„Nice of you to have a pleasant chat with her as she strangles me!“ he snapped at Trevor, rising up to stand again and lean on his horse- he noticed that the animal wasn’t as rigid and frightened as it was when it first stopped, but he focused on his agitation with the Hunter. He understood trauma and detachment, but they did just save his life, all but carried him away from the pyre. One would think he’d be grateful enough not to exchange pleasantries with a person who was killing him.   
„.. I’m sorry. But you must show respect to them, otherwise you end up- well. Like you. Or worse“ Trevor mumbled, avoiding the dhampire’s gaze. But before he could hiss again, perhaps mention how ’honorable’ it was of Trevor to look out for his own ass alone, Sypha placed her hand on his shoulder firmly, demanding his attention.   
„Adrian“ she interrupted him, turning him around so he’d look at her „She only let go of you because Belmont made three sacrifices for you“ by the way her lip trembled, he could tell that the sacrifices were dire, and his heart sunk in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

„Adrian- she only let go of you because Belmont made three sacrifices for you“  
The words didn’t sound quite right, but who was he to doubt his lover’s word? She was there and able while he was deaf to the world, consumed by the agony and fright. He took deep breaths still, clutching at his horse’s reigns to hide the tremble of his fingers. For someone who fancied himself a warrior, he found that he was all too shaken by one simple curse. Although, that was the worst part, wasn’t it? The simplicity- the ease she displayed in threatening his life. She was a lanky woman, pale and wolfish in face despite her beauty, yet she needed no physical might to press on his airways; even her magic had a subtle, watery touch to it. Cursing him not to breathe was as easy as hair combing to her, and he, son of Dracula raised and bred to be a fighter, needed air as much as a lowly human peasant. Deny him that... and he will die. It was a sobering thought- he spent so much time deflecting fang and nail and torch and sword that he forgot how many vulnerabilities he shared with his mother’s people. He may be immortal, but he well damned could be killed.   
He would have been killed that very day, if not for one broken man. He looked at the Belmont with wide eyes, taking in the man’s state. He was bruised and battered from his captivity, yes but there was a shiver to his frame that wasn’t there before- a sign that the body was fighting against the fresh wave of pain instead of old aches. The sweat wetting his brow spoke the same tale, and at that, Alucard felt ice settle in his gut. 

„What did she do to you?“ he finally asked, trying to see the damage on the man but failing to see anything new. Sypha was quiet by his side, resting her head upon his shoulder as if to try and forget the whole ordeal. She wasn’t openly frantic, nor sobbing, so he could at least assume none of fairy’s demands were lethal for their hunter, but... that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt. Pain through simplicity seemed to be the fairy’s way, after all.   
„She took my rib“ Trevor finally spoke, forcing words out of his mouth while containing groans of pain at the same time. „She took my bloody rib...“ he repeated more to himself, another violent tremor coursing through his body. He hunched over on his horse, breathing in and out sharply through grit teeth.   
„What?“ finally feeling strong enough to walk, Alucard runs instead, rushing to the Hunter’s side. Naturally, it is a bit hard to imitate his mother’s skills when the supposed patient is perched up on a horse. 

„Would you dismount?“ he asks impatiently, correcting himself right away „Please- I must see what happened here- she couldn’t have possibly took your rib, there isn’t any /blood/...“ Alucard is a medic, not as skilled and diverse as his mother, but taught about human body in excruciating detail. There is no way to take a man’s bone without cuts and blood, it simply couldn’t be done. Once Trevor’s feet touch the ground, his fingers swiftly move to where the man is clutching at his side. He carefully removes the arm, tries to feel down the man’s ribcage... and his fingers find soft flesh where it out be hardened by the bone underneath. But the bone is gone, and not at the bottom part of the ribcage either- the place where the bone once was is perfectly vulnerable right above Trevor’s lung. He presses in only gently, and the until then stoic man lets out a cry, backing away roughly.   
„Don’t touch it!“ he wails, turning his back on both of his companions. „Fuck, fuck, fuck...“ he curses, his own hand moving to the wounded place yet not laying over it- after all, it hurt.  
„Trevor, I am so sorry- you shouldn’t have- I never meant for this to happen“ Adrian stuttered, not daring to approach the human. It was his fault, no? If he had not been so arrogant, Trevor wouldn’t have been forced to exchange his bone for his life. And not a bone alone... more so, even his apology was hollow, the dhampir realized. ’You shouldn’t have’ he told him, but was that truly his sentiment? Was that honestly how he felt? Would he with no regret die so that the already scarred man could be spared the additional pain?  
No. Alucard was remorseful that Trevor was put in such a position to begin with, but he did not regret the man's decision. The strongest emotion he felt at the whole ordeal was gratitude.   
„You saved my life“ he was torn from his thoughts by the rough voice. Trevor was standing up, Sypha by his side to support him should he falter. „It is only fair I return the favor“   
No it isn’t, Alucard wanted to counter, but to say that would be to stomp on the man’s sacrifice. He was granted a gift; the least he could do would be to appreciate it. 

„What else did she demand of you?“ he asks instead, and receives a grunt in response as the slat surviving Belmont mounts his horse once again, despite the hot fresh pain. He doesn’t answer the question properly, making the horse go into a trot without another word. In the past few minutes, he spoke more than he did in hours prior, and he seemed to have exhausted himself. Hesitantly, the lovers have set on their horses instead, now one next the other a few meters behind the hunter. Mercifully, Sypha leaned towards her lover to sate his morbid curiosity.   
„He will never have children“ she whispered, her breath tasting of sorrow „And his breath will fail him or not as the fates desire“ that part she uttered with fear instead. 

Given the nature of their relationship, it always rang odd for Sypha to claim Adrian her brother when she’d rent them a room, but that seemed better than to call him her husband with no wedding band to prove the status. She felt nothing for the jewels of marriage, but she had a feeling Adrian would have nothing against decorating her hand with gold, letting the world know he had claimed her as his. They might even live long enough for him to manage such a boast, but it all was out of the question as long as Dracula lived.   
„Really? Him?“ the innkeeper said, barely keeping his voice down as she introduced herself and asked for room in exchange for silver. Now that they had a third companion, she added Trevor to her tale as he fiance, but the innkeeper seemed to have trouble seeing why a beautiful and agile young woman would take a rough, rag clad man such as Trevor as her husband to be. 

„Please be considerate“ she told the man in a tone that mixed scorn and plea as nicely as cheese went with wine „He had witnessed one of the night horde’s attacks- he had not been the same since. But he still chops wood as good as he did in our village“ she explains, sighing with relief when the iron key finally found its way to her palm.   
The room is cramped, really, but the bed at least seems well made, an a fireplace is stocked with wood that she lights with one careless flick of her fingers. Trevor stops to gaze at the flames that move so much like a true fire, yet he can see something amiss- in his gaze Sypha sees that he can tell her fire is different. The magic it was born from makes it somewhat hotter, the flames lick at the cold air more elegantly, it is contained better than ordinary one as if it has a thought of its own, determined not to damage the floor beyond its designated place and harm any of them. 

„It will last us the whole night“ she says to the tall male, standing by his size while Alucard checks the window for the escape route „Once it eats away the wood, it will collapse into itself and come back alight. It is a simple spell, but quite a useful one“ she pauses „I know you probably think me a witch, and... I am similar, yes. But you know I’d do no harm to an innocent man, yes?“ she asks, looking up to him in worry. He not once seemed violent, not when the priest was taunting him and not when he saw her stake him like no ordinary woman should be able to. In fact, he seemed so docile that she began to worry the Church might have ruined him entirely- that they were late despite having kept him alive. How could such a timid man ever be the Hunter that the prophecy had promised them?   
„... I know what a witch is“ Trevor said after a moment of silence, not oblivious to the fact that Adrian was listening into every word they uttered „And I’d never mistake you for a malicious one“ he told her, meeting her gaze for a brief moment before he looked at the fire again. It was funny, he thought to himself, how much fire she could fit in the eyes that were so very blue. Not too unlike his own, he supposed, although he couldn’t remember the particular shade of his own. Were they light or dark? All he knew was that they were blue, as he well remembered her aunts’ gushing when he was but a toddler, small and enjoying their affection after too long lessons with agitated tutors and an impatient father. 

„Why did you save me?“ he asked, choosing to focus on the present rather than the past that he was running from „I don’t know either of you. You- you want me to kill Dracula, is that it?“ he was willing to do a lot to repay his debt to them, but some things he just couldn’t do. Killing the master of all things evil was one of them. If Leon Belmont couldn’t do it, how would a family runt stand a chance?   
„No, no- we are going to do that. The three of us“ Sypha replied, trying to meet his gaze again. He had such pretty eyes, yet they were so sad. She wished to see them alight with something other than pain. Hope would be an excellent start.   
„And why do you think we stand any chance? We couldn’t even beat a fairy“ it was harsh to mention it when the threat on Adrian’s life wasn’t even a day old, but it was the truth. While the fae folk were powerful and ruthless, the fact remained that none stayed on land that Dracula claimed. It wasn’t the other way around. They feared him, yes they did, even the ancient ones that had met and fought powerful vampires and demons such as Hatshepsut, Godbrand and Milo. How could they defeat someone who terrified women that killed with their minds?  
„I am his son“ Adrian decided to speak „And there is a prophecy. The Sleeping Soldier will be awoken by the Scholar; two of them shall find the Hunter, and three of them will defeat Dracula. I think it is obvious which is which”  
“So you rest your… hope… on a tale spun for how long before you heard it? I am not a hunter, Adrian, not of the caliber you need. My training has been cut short, even” he said ruefully, but the blond refused to yield. “You are the only one that we have” he insisted, golden eyes never once leaving his “But even if the prophecy isn’t true, we still must continue. If we don’t end this madness, who in the seven hells will?”


	4. Chapter 4

Trevor Belmont had insisted to keep guard that night, and when Adrian explained that he would place runes to alert them of danger instead, he still did not wish to sleep before them. It posed a problem, as Adrian and Sypha needed privacy to discuss their further plans- and Belmont could not possibly be part of that conversation, for it was him that they needed to speak of the most. They did, thankfully, manage to get him in bed at least, Adrian having needed to examine him. Sypha had turned her back on the two, upon Trevor’s request, grumbling that there hardly was something on him that she hadn’t seen. At first, Adrian agreed with her. The memories of torture were stark upon Trevor’s skin, the tribute to whip and fire and blade, but he stopped short upon seeing his palms.   
„What- what’s this?“ he asked numbly, taking the man’s hands in his. Upon Trevor’s left palm, word Jeremiah was carved, sloppily and deeply, as if with a ragged knife. The scar tissue was hard and lacked color, being old at least half a year. The scarring on his other palm was of similar age, the branding there presenting numbers rather than words: 11/11.   
Trevor pulled his hands away, looking down upon his scarred palms before closing his eyes and reciting.   
„Therefore this is what the Lord says: I am about to bring upon them a disaster that they cannot escape. They will cry out to Me, but I will not listen to them. Jeremiah, 11/11“ he said through his teeth, as if the words brought him physical pain. Perhaps they did- soul could hurt as keenly as any piece of flesh and bone. 

„Animals“ Sypha was looking over Adrian’s shoulder, having yielded to the temptation of curiosity- a morbid impulse, she knew, but she truly did not expect such cruelty, even from the institution that had started the whole horror they now fought tooth and nail against. Trevor sunk into himself underneath her gaze.   
„May I get dressed now“ he asked, looking down instead of up. Sypha sighed sadly, and Adrian replied as she turned away once more.  
„You do not need ask us for permission on such matters. We have not taken you from that place to replace their collar with our own“   
Trevor touched at his throat as if checking for any binds, and the sight broke Adrian’s heart. „You should rest. Here“ he reached into the bag Sypha carried, and pulled out a few longer stripes of dried meat „Eat and then rest. You need it“ 

„You need to eat too“ 

„We have already eaten, don’t worry“ 

They haven’t actually eaten, but Adrian felt that a white lie wouldn’t be of much harm. Trevor gulped as he accepted the meat, finally looking up to meet the dhampire’s eye. The shared look lasted for less than a second, but it expressed more emotion than Belmont did ever since they met him. The man was grateful, embarrassed... and humiliated by his own appetite as he dug into the meat, obviously half starved. Before their gazes separated, Adrian realized that Trevor knew damned well that he and Sypha didn’t actually dine without him noticing- he just was too hungry to refuse.   
He wanted to comfort the man, to explain to him that a little selfishness was not a horrifying crime- it came from the weakness in them all, not wickedness. Hadn’t he himself felt more relief at Trevor’s sacrifices for him rather than regret? But he felt that any prolonged conversation would be lost on the man- he was barely able to speak more than a full sentence at the time. The most he had spoken was with the fairy, in the time of absolute need, and the event seemed to have exhausted him physically as well as mentally. Granted, some of it had to do with his ribcage being robbed by black magic, but Adrian stayed firm in his belief that words never came easy to the last Belmont. 

After he was done with food, it was an irritating game of waiting for him to fall asleep before they could discuss what had to be done. It seemed that the moment his eyes would close for a moment too long, he’d silently panic and open them again, all but hitting himself to try and remain awake. Just as Adrian was about to stand up and hypnotize him, Sypha stood up from the floor and used the frame of the bed to support her weight. And innocent gesture, but only a few moments after it, the Belmont was asleep- Adrian could hear his frightened heart slow down to a gentler, sleepy pace.   
„What have you done?“ he asked in a low voice from his place by the fire place.   
„I have warmed the bed, genius. You were about to enthrall him“ she replied, her tone making it obvious what she thought about the action.   
„I was losing patience. He was denying himself sleep on purpose“   
„Well, he was probably frightened of nightmares. Or he perhaps doesn’t feel safe. Who knows how long it has been that he is sleeping outside of that cell, as a free man“   
„We have to do something about him. He is far too fragile“ 

That drew a reaction from his lover, who stood by the foot of the bed with her arms crossed over her chest as if she was a silent guardian to the sleeping man.   
"He saved your life, Adrian“ she reminded the golden maned dhampir, her words measured and her tone low still, as not to rise the one abed.   
„All the more reason why I do not mean to lead him to his certain death. Look at him, Sypha!“ he too spoke quietly, but there was force behind the hushed tone. „I do not say this out of spite or maliciousness. I honestly think he won’t be able to survive what we mean to lean him into“   
„I thought we agreed we ought follow the prophecy.“   
„We do! Just... not yet. We need to be careful lest we fall in battle thanks to his weakness“   
„You now look at him. He is a strong man.“   
„He is broken. The Church ruined him“   
„Don’t say that. We just need a bit more time, that is all.“ 

That also seemed to be all she wanted said on the matter because the next thing she did was shed her speakers robes and head to the bed. Adrian decided to follow the suite, removing his coat and shirt as he joined her- and then they both stood next to the bed awkwardly. Trevor was asleep on it, as in the middle as a Wednesday.   
„I... guess we go around him, then“ Adrian said awkwardly.   
He had expected to dislike the arrangement, actually, after months of sleeping with his lover in his arms, but he found soon after laying down that Belmont was not a displeasing person to share bedding with. The man was quite warm, radiating with warmth actually, and that, combined with Sypha’s magic, and the otherwise cold vampire fall asleep rather easily.   
He did not even realize he had wrapped his arm around the Belmont until the hour of the wolf, when both he and Sypha were awoken by him leaving the bed. Neither said a thing, their eyes meeting in the darkness- and the Belmont seemed to have miscalculated their silence to be the sign of their unawareness.   
He knelt in front of the fire, and somehow Sypha knew what he was going to do even before he clutched his hands together against his chest.   
„I here confess I’ve lived in sin. I have been idle of my work disobedient upon my parents, neglectful of my prayer. I have denied the good book, and broken every of your commandments in thought and practice both. Followed the desires of my own will, and not the Holy Spirit. I know I deserve all shame and misery in this life, and the ever lasting hellfire. But I beg you, for the sake of the good sheep, forgive me, show me mercy, show me your light. Help me not arrive alone to Hell“   
His voice was low and rough, more like an animal dragging its claws through dirt than a man speaking; Adrian was disgusted, but Sypha seemed disturbed rather than offended. They both remained still, waiting for the man to return to the warm bed, but he did not proceed to do that. Instead, he took his cloak and laid upon in it in front of the fire, to spend the night there. 

When he first woke up, the night was still as dark as the nightmares that wrenched him from sleep’s clutches, but the fire lit the room in warmth and light. It wasn’t comforting, sadly, not when he found himself in such a close proximity to two other people, one of which was a man all too close to him, his arm draped over his waist as if he himself was a lady rather than a man. The position was not nearly as appalling to him as it ought to be to a normal man, and he found himself struggling not to choke on his own breath as panic coated his tongue and threatened to block his airways. He was warm, and comfortable, and he had no right to any of that. Sypha deserved better than to be subjected to his gaze in such an intimate setting, and the man who breathed down his back did not need any sinful desires aimed his way, certainly not those of Trevor’s kind. A man ought not lie with a man, yet that was something Trevor wanted. And while he had no overwhelming urge to bed neither Adrian nor Sypha, someone with his deranged lusts had no business lying so close to them. It was not pure enough for them. Berating himself quietly, he slid out of the dhampir’s embrace, grateful for their deep slumber, and he decided to spend the rest of the night in front of the fire. It was still warm, even without the shared body heat, but the floor was rough and hardly comfortable. At least that was a a familiar setting.

The next time he opened his eyes was before the dawn even started chasing away the night, and he spent the following hours watching his saviors sleep. It was an eventless affair, but not something that bored him. He had plenty of time to watch boring, immobile things while in captivity, and they were far more beautiful and interesting than the damp, mute walls of his cell. He also had even more time to observe fast things, creative things, and they were far more peaceful and kind than the knife’s song, or rush of a whip. Not just any whip- The Vampire Killer was given its fair share of use while he was held captive, his scared back carried proof of that. He rest his hand upon the hilt, half comforted and half terrified by the familiar weight on his hip. Slowly, he unhooked it from his side, looking down at the expensive leather that now was more burgundy than brown, stained by his own blood. He scratched at it idly, transfixed with the change in his weapon. It still was the same weight, as flexible as ever, but the stark change in color was more upsetting than he wanted it to be. It was a reminder, a grim one, that he wasn’t meant to use it- it was taken from him, used on him, and was probably set to burn alongside with him on that pyre to which he never made it to. There was some divine justice in him tasting his own weapon, the symbol of his strength, his house, before he died, but was there justice in him using it after it was already taken by the men of faith? They certainly didn’t want him to live up to his family’s traditions, not that he was doing a really good of a job at it to begin with. He was a disappointment of both worlds, neither a worthy gargoil nor a godly man. An unholy drunk, that was all- except that he, like everyone in his family, had that horrible, demonic talent for violence. He slowly looked up from his whip to the sleeping lovers that still were abed. They trusted him way too much. How could they be so serene with him in the room? He was a Belmont, in name if not in practice, and of Belmonts was the duty to eradicate the monsters. Sypha could hardly qualify for such a title, as he very well knew a difference between a witch and a hag, but the dhampir... not only more of a vampire than a man, but Adrian was the son of the darkest of vampires. How could he have so little sense to sleep soundly next to a Belmont? He was hugging him when he woke up in the middle of the night, for goodness’ sake. The man clearly lacked some form of a survival instinct, or... or he simply trusted him. The thought came upon hm unexpectedly, just as he watched the dhampir sniff in his sleep and hide his face in the short, choppy locks of his lady. Adrian saved his life, and saw him give up a lot for his. Could it be that those two deeds alone warranted trust? No further tests, no trials?   
Father Solomon had done many things that proved him a friend of the family, and he still marched to the manor with a mob at his back, demanding death by fire to all. Adrian was a fool to trust him just because they saved each other’s lives; it was a mistake of someone young and naive- of someone too pure to accept the worst. He returned the whip to his hip, knowing then that he would use it when the time arrived- he had to, because he actually found himself with something he had to protect.


	5. Chapter 5

It was two days later that Trevor declared they were but a day riding away from his family estate. They were at the outerskirts of a medium sized village, surrounded by ever drying wells and even dryer fields.   
„We should get ourselves a room for the night and continue on the morrow“ Sypha said, her eyes heavy and her head in a dire need of rest. „There is no reason to plunge through the darkness now“   
„No! No, they might recognize me. We should just ride through“   
„Well what will they do if they know you? We three easily outpower them, and spikes and spears are no good when men end up too cowardly to raise them“ Sypha remarked, her voice carrying an edge that only creeped in when she was particularly exhausted.   
„I killed their lord, Sypha“   
Her eyes widened, sweet rosy mouth falling open as she stared at him, and he could see the thoughts running through her head. How could he? Why? He was but a child, how did he even manage it? Yet despite all the questions raging in her mind, it was Alucard that spoke.   
„For what crime?“ he asked in that deep voice of his, glancing Trevor’s way- it was not for the judgement, but curiosity. One lord to another.   
It wasn’t a merry tale, and the rain that kept pouring that day made it seem like the heavens above were crying. But for whom were those tears meant? Lord Blackwight, or his victim?   
„Curses on you“ the man was nearly six decades of age, his beard and unruly hair utterly white and of that soft, frail texture that had it ruffled like cotton despite its thinness. „A foreign mercenary is all you are“ he added hatefully, looking up at the olive skinned Greek that had arrived in the village that morning, followed by a suite of twenty men. Achiles was a known shield to House Belmont, loyal and fierce- he never left their side for business less than urgent; almost all on the Belmont land knew to fear ill omens when they saw the Greek riding without the head of the family.  
„Foreign or not, I will be walking on this land for a long time. You will merely be buried in it“ Achiles scoffed, not knowing that he too will share soil with Lord Blackwhight but half a year later; the mob that would cry for the Belmont blood will not take kindly to the foreigner raising blade to defend it.   
„And why is Alexander not here? Does my old friend not have the courage to execute me himself, the turncloak?“ even while in chains and on his knees in the mud, Blackwhight was prideful, and spiteful too. He did not ask, he demanded answers instead. The crowd of peasants around them were frightened by the sight of contradiction, but Achiles, used to brave men that defied fear of death, merely quirked his eyebrow, stepping to the side lightly.   
„He sent his son“   
„This whelp?! Have I offended Alexander so greatly that he sends me a foreign dog and a child that doesn’t even have fur to keep its balls warm?!“ Achiles snarked, looking down at the beaten man with more hatred than Trevor ever saw him muster.   
„You gave the other to murder a child. A little girl... for that crime, you will die by the hand of a boy. It is more than you deserve- he will grow to be a man worth thousands of the likes of you“   
„She was a witch! She would have cursed the whole village!“   
„Lord Belmont explicitly forbade such nonsense, as did his father before him! Such primitive cruelty has no place on Belmont land, and all sightings of danger of mystical kind must be reported to the estate, /not/ to be dealt with by peasans that cannot even tell a witch from a hag!“ he was shouting at that point, terrifying in his rage and armor, and was consciously sending out a clear warning to the people surrounding them. They all could count on the Belmont men and women to protect them rom shriekers and hags and all manner of monsters and evil, but the great family would not tolerate monstrosity committed in false justice. Unfortunately, the Belmonts wouldn’t be able to protect them from the greatest evil to come, because when it arrived, it sang gospels and the villagers joined it.   
„Not telling a witch from a hag... see, my people, what they would have us do? Break bread with the unholy! They would have us tolerate spell casters and- and divide them, honor their differences! Magic is evil!“  
„Was it evil when Chirst turned water into wine and with little food fed many? Ask your lord, if you get to meet them, why one miracle is a blessing and the other a curse. I doubt you will meet him, however. You don’t deserve to go the same place as that little girl. Trevor?“   
He stepped forward, the boy of eleven, tall for his age and already muscular. He had no problem taking the heavy axe one of his household guard handed him, holding it with one hand as Lord Blackwhight was forced to rest his head on a tree stump. Rain intensified, and he had to speak loudly for it to be heard. He knew the words by heart- there was no point in pretense of holding a written sentence- it was no secret that the youngest of the Belmonts was daft to learning.   
„Lord Blackwhight, Edmure. In the name of my father, Alexander Belmont, patriarch of the Belmont family and holder of its lands, I, Trevor Belmont, sentence you to die for the crimes of fear mongering and a murder of a child.“ He paused, words heavy on his tongue. How he would have preferred to stay silent. „If you have any last words my lord, now is the time“   
Edmure Blackwhight looked up to him, that small boy, and their eyes met. Those eye were piercing and faraway at the same time, such a blue shade of gray and impossibly pale, and in that moment Blackwhight realized there was barely anything human in them. But far it be for him to spoil the surprises of the future. He grinned through chipped teeth.  
„May you inherit this land, my boy. May you inherit it young“ for a boy with a father in his prime and six older brothers, there was no greater curse. He didn’t feel himself raising the axe, but when he met eyes with the proud lord again, his eyes were empty, and head detached from body. He could hear horrified gasps around them, and wrongly assumed they were there for the horrible last wish of their lord. Later, during the ride back to the manor, Achiles would explain to him they were there because he never took the axe in both hands.   
A boy of eleven.

„It was justice. You ought not feel guilty for it“ Alucard demanded, gripping tightly at the reigns- his judgement was swift and fair, in his opinion; he grew up in a court of vampires, and compared to the justice of his father’s generals, Trevor was heaven’s sent and his father too.   
„The clergymen disagree“ Trevor said, voice clipped. He didn’t want to think of the morality of what happened, or whether it was wrong or just. Family values and sting of his own whip contradicted each other, and it made his head ache. Adrian opened his mouth to counter, and Trevor felt himself panic.   
„I don’t want to talk about it!“ he blurted, louder than intended, and with fear obvious in his tone. For a man who faced down a fairy and offered her his life for another, to be afraid of words was a sign of wicked doing.   
„What is a difference between a witch and a hag?“ Sypha asked, giving Adrian a pointed look- there was no need to pressure Belmont in great moral dilemmas, but his childhood lessons might be easier to relive.   
„Hag is something evil. They gain their powers through evil means, they do. You cannot become a hag without occult deeds of gory nature. A witch, however, is blessed. It is a wide term however, covering everything from seers and green thumbs, to those controlling the elements, like you do“   
„How do you differ them?“ she asked, blush tinting her cheeks faintly.   
„One doesn’t usually, until is to late, if that is what they want; if they want to remain hidden. Their bodies are deformed and twisted, a sign of their heresy, but magic can bend many things, even flesh. They can be beautiful, if they so want“ 

His eyes turned glossy, as he turned back in time, listening to Wolfgang’s lessons; his oldest brother was a busy man, needing to both help run the estate and learn to rule at the same time, but he did often try to make time for his youngest sibling. He couldn’t give Trevor all he needed, sadly; there was no time for sweet things, and their time together was not of bonding, only duty- only lessons, so that Trevor may learn what a little lord needs, even if it be by a sad pace. Poor thing was often even slower than he already was, since Wolfgang would come in after father would leave with shouting and overturned furniture. It would take a still, strong voice and a stern tone to get Trevor out from hiding in a weapon’s cabinet or from underneath his bed. You can’t hide, he would tell him, now get out and do what you must. Once, Trevor cried that he wanted to die- Wolfgang promised him that he would indeed, if he stayed still. They both would lose sleep, spending nights and nights repeating lessons to each other, if one could even call the half stuttered sentences a lesson. But he learned- word by word, he learned. Not everything, no. Not even close what a grown, educated Belmont should know. But enough to survive, enough to kill when the time comes- most importantly, what not to kill. And Wolfgang learned something too, through all those sleepless nights- he learned that his poor, illiterate brother that would never learn to read or write was in fact not stupid at all.   
Days after the pyre, he saw a dark, scrawny figure rummaging through the burnt estate, trying to gather bones of the fallen. He killed it, for he knew what purpose the remains of his loved ones would have served. 

„They eat the big ones to gain strength. They eat the small ones to fake youth. And they eat the lovely ones, to be as beautiful as their hearts are black“


End file.
